Wristcutters: A Johnlock Story
by HobbitHoleDestroyer
Summary: When life isn't going so well for John Watson, what else is he supposed to do? But wait...JonhxSherlock and many others.
1. Chapter 1

**Based off of "Wristcutters: A Love Story". I haven't seen it in years, but I'm going along with a plot summary and expanding it as much as I can. Oh my gosh, I'm getting such a sick kick from this so far, but don't worry, you won't have to deal with much more John bleeding out and dying (Or WILL YOU?). But I really hope you enjoy this chapter especially, since it came from my current state of mind. Fanfiction helps relieve it all~**

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The flat was small. So small it was suffocating. It drove John mad. All his mind could do was race. As he paced the room – really only four or five steps wide—he kicked past every box and pile of laundry in his way. His throat was so dry he was forced to gulp down his saliva to keep from choking. He coughed. His heart pounded. His chest rose and fell swiftly. He couldn't keep his muscles from twitching. His leg gave out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor. He cursed. _What am I going to do with myself!?_

He had been with Mary for over two years. It was the longest he had ever been with someone, the closest he had ever been to anyone—if you did not count his sister. How she could just up and leave him for someone else he could never understand. But now he was completely alone. Trapped in a cold cement room without anyone who cared about him.

Harry committed suicide very recently, leaving him no family to rely on, even if she was never very reliable in the first place. She was something.

He climbed back to his feet trudging to the end of the room where a small desk sat. His laptop's battery was draining. The screen went dark and it shut off. John ignored it. He reached for the top drawer, removing a notebook to reveal a nice, little handgun. He got it from Harry. _Never thought it would come to this._ He swallowed more spit to ease his throat, then taking in a deep breath, traversed to the bathroom.

He kicked to door open, but it flung back at him as it smacked pathetically against a box from behind it. He punched the door angrily, causing a portion of the box to stick out from the gap beneath the door, holding it open. He dropped the gun on the counter and stared at himself in the mirror.

He wore jeans and an undershirt which was thin enough to see the disgusting scar on his shoulder. He yanked at his hair, falling to the tile and sobbing. He slipped a hand up to grab the gun. _Maybe I'll see you soon, Harriet…_

John looked down at it. His heart sank. He checked the barrel to ensure it was fully loaded. His head fell back into the bathroom's cabinets. He wiped the tears out of his eyes, frustrated but frightened. How awful it had been to see his sister lying dead in her flat, brains blown across the room. He had seen enough from the war. He's had enough.

Cocking the gun, the image came back to him. How awfully messy it was…but was there really that clean of a way of doing this? He felt a wave of nausea come over him, and he almost gagged. His hand fell down into a small drop of blood on the floor. It led him to look at his arms. _It m_ay _not be much cleaner, but it is less gruesome…. _

He pulled out a new box of razors. Plucking one out of the box by the safe end, he stared longingly at it. _I should have done this years ago._

He cut over old scars, made new ones, and winced as he dug deeply into already raw flesh. It pooled on top of his arms, spilling over onto his jeans and his faded white shirt. He only just noticed he was sobbing, but it abruptly stopped. It became harder and harder to breathe. He couldn't tell if he was breathing. He began to fall over onto his side. He stared as his own blood pooled around him. His blue eyes faded, and his blonde hair was soaked red. His muscles slowly stopped shaking as he took his last breath.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yeah, I left behind my girlfriend. I don't want to brag or anything, but I'm pretty sure she cried at my funeral." The dark haired man sitting across from John raised a clever, thick brow. His eyes shouted unimpressed, and his lips were pursed in disinterest. John turned his head down to stare at the table between them. "She's probably found some guy's shoulder to cry on. And he's probably comforting her right now….Or fucking her…..A nice, comforting fuck."

The moody eyed man sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right." It was painfully obvious John was grieving, and the many stories he told always led to his girlfriend, who he was thoroughly convinced left him for someone else. Most likely someone who didn't sulk so much.

He watched John as he lowered his head into his hands. He honestly felt bad for him, but where they were, emotions rarely mattered.

"Watson! Get back to work!" The gruff voice called John out of his trance, reminding him that he wasn't off work yet. "I'll talk to you later, James." "Please, Jim." "Right, Jim."

John resumed his place behind the counter of the bar. He surveyed the establishment to find that everyone was piss drunk. No surprise there. The harsh sepia tones almost stung his eyes. Most men were already passed out if they weren't sadly slumped in their seats already.

This was his life now. He had Jim. And his job as a bartender. Technically speaking, this wasn't life. This was a world inhabited by those who have committed suicide. Everyone in that very room pulled the trigger on themselves, jumped, hung themselves, or killed themselves in any fashion they did.

Every day, John got to stand there and stare at these pathetic people who were just like him. Some had been sitting in these seats for years. If it was hard to find a reason to live before, it was even harder now. And there was no escape from this. All he had was this job…and Jim, of course.

Jim, as he told John, vaguely remembers jumping from a very high building. Other than that, and his name, he can't remember any of his old life. John wished he had more to say, because if he had, he wouldn't talk so much. He wouldn't always come around to think of Mary.

But this was every day for him. After work, he sat around with Jim for an hour or two longer, had a drink, then they both stepped outside, looking up to the starless sky. They always headed straight to Jim's car, and he took John back to his flat. He would get up the next day to Jim picking him up, and they would both go to the bar. They would talk (John would talk…and talk…and talk….), then John would work. The cycle always repeated.

"Ready to go, John?" He was pulled from his thoughts by his only friend. He relaxed, wishing he could give him a sincere smile, to let him know he was okay. But in this world, no one could smile. It was impossible. He ran his hands through his short, dark blonde hair, coming up to Jim.

As they piled into Jim's car, John let out a small gasp. Jim turned to see him fumbling behind his seat. "Did you lose something back there?" John hummed in response. "Well, I hope it wasn't anything important." John raised his head to meet his friend's bored eyes. "It was my watch…why?"

Jim lowered his eyes to the space under John's seat. "It's like there's a couple of black holes back there. I don't think you'll see that watch ever again."  
John leaned back and sighed.

-

Even as he lay in his futon, his eyes were wide open. His thoughts clouded his head more fiercely than they ever had when he was alive. There was nothing to do with them now. No outlets for his pain. The entire world he resided in was depressing, filled with people who were equally depressed.

At least one question never came to mind anymore…What would he do with himself? There wasn't anything he could do with himself, even if he wanted.

He suddenly became very pained when he thought about the living world. No one really cared about him there. But was he really better off here? He had Jim, and he was thankful for having him…but he felt he needed something more….

He learned to cope with his haunting thoughts. He suppressed them, easily falling asleep.

-

The next day, Jim was outside his flat. Another day began.

Jim finally spoke up about himself over the ride to the bar. He had a dream about a tall man with blond hair and scars. John was very interested and he listened to him describe things he could only imagine happening in a 007 movie.

"Do you think you actually did all that?" The dark haired man rubbed at his eyes. "It felt very real, but I wouldn't know." John nodded.

When they entered, the usual men and women waved at them, sparing them a short glance. 'Yup,' John thought. 'This is my life.'

A few hours into the day, and someone new came inside. He was a rather large man. John kept his head down, as not to scare him away.

"Hey!" He jumped at the unusually loud voice. No one uttered more than a whisper normally, but this man was intent on getting his attention. "Are you John Watson?" He asked in a more hushed tone. John raised his head, confused. He nodded, looking the man over. "Yeah, I am. Sorry do I know you?"

John caught the twitch in his eye. The twitch that always came when someone tried to smile. "Mike Stamford. We went to college together." John recognized the name, but the flat tone he used was something very odd. He remembered the man, who had been rather upbeat and friendly. What was he doing here?

"Why are you here?" John could almost laugh at the nonsense of the question. "Because I killed myself."

Mike nodded, probably not fully realizing the idiocy of his question. "Yeah, me too…" 'No shit….'

John saw Jim staring sympathetically at him from behind Mike's back. Suddenly, Mike's head shot up, and he looked straight into John's eyes. "Hey, weren't you with Mary?" Jim gave him an even more sympathetic look. He sighed, but became curious. "Uh, yeah….why?"

Mike's mouth shot open and John prepared himself for hearing something awful come from it. "I heard she killed herself!"

John's jaw dropped slightly. He turned to Jim, who stared back with large eyes. "She's here? Is she really here!? Where is she!?"

Everyone in the bar stared at him, but he didn't care. He had to know. His interest was piqued beyond belief and he vibrated in place. Mike stammered. "Uhh….E-east-ish?"  
John could hardly close his mouth. He almost felt nauseous. He finally had something to do. He had something to look forward to. "Mike….thanks so much…."

Mike's eyes shifted around the people in the bar. He whispered, "Does that mean I get a free drink?"

John jumped right over the counter, grabbing Jim's arm and pulling him straight up. "Take it! I'm out of here!"

Jim staggered as he was dragged out to the car by a more than livid, ecstatic blond man. All he heard about from him was about this "Mary". He knew what John must have been feeling in that moment.

"Are you sure you want to go find her? 'East-ish' doesn't sound very…comforting. It'll be hard to find her." John ceased his tugging on the car door, choosing to stare down his friend. "Are you kidding me? It's a direction! We could find her eventually! I feel like this is something I need to do, Jim!"

Jim shifted where he stood. He took out his keys, unlocking the car. John jumped inside like a giddy five year old. Jim started up the car and headed in the direction of John's flat. "What are you doing? This is west! You're going the wrong way!"

"John, you're being irrational! Could you just think before you do something stupid like this?" John grabbed his forearm. Not wanting to damage his car further, he pulled over on the side of the road. "What else do we have, Jim? Look at this world. Are you really happy in this dead end routine?"

Jim rubbed his temples. "No one is happy here, John." "I could be. And you could be too." Jim's eyes narrowed, not believing John for a second. But he assured him, "I need this, Jim. You know I do. And who knows…maybe you'll find someone too. I just know this is something we both have to do. There's nothing else for us here. We finally have something. We have this."

Jim watched the sky turn dark. The lack of stars made everything exceedingly dark. He jammed his finger on the button to turn the headlights on. He gave up, knowing they would never work properly. He rested his head on the steering wheel. Who was he to deny John something he obviously wanted so much? And what did they have to lose…?

"Fine. East-ish, then." John's face twitched very harshly. Jim laid his hand down on his shoulder. "We'll find her John."

"Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

It was pitch black outside. "Jim, can't you fix those damn headlights?" Jim rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "I've told you already, not a single mechanic has been able to fix them."

John reclined his seat, lying down with a nagging feeling that something bad would happen if they continued to drive. "Maybe we should stop for the night then? I don't want to wake up to find out we're in a ditch or that we've ran into something." The dark haired man scoffed at him. "What's the worst that will happen by then? Are we going to die?"

"We'll have to walk."

Jim pulled over to where he believed the road wasn't, turning off the engine and trying desperately to make himself comfortable in his seat. John could faintly see his dark eyebrows furrowing together. He knew the man always kept himself busy with thinking, but what was it that he thought about? All John could think about was his old life, but Jim….couldn't remember his….

He let the question slip, "What is it you're thinking about?" John watched as Jim's large eyes opened as far as they'd allow. He seemed horrified, or shocked, but he wasn't one to show much emotion, especially neither of those mentioned. "I can't help but to feel that I know someone here." "You know me," John retorted. Jim sighed at his obvious, and rather crude, attempt at making a joke.

"Someone from my past life. But I can't describe him at all. Too many things come to mind. It may be a couple of people I'm thinking about," he broke off from his thought with a growl. None of what he said made much sense to John, but he tried to understand it, and even if he couldn't he realized Jim was done talking about the subject.

When the day came, they found themselves in a desert. Looking around, there wasn't a single sign of life for miles. There was sand, and a long straight line of road. John stepped out, stretching out his limbs. He hobbled over to a large rock that was next to their car, wondering how they hadn't hit it.

His mind was still fuzzy from sleep, and he tried to figure out what they were doing in the middle of a desert, where last night's dream started, and if it even ended.

Jim slammed his door shut, coming out to lean against the hood of the car, lighting up a cigarette. He watched as John dazedly circled the rock, his leg obviously bothering him again. Jim tended to notice his limping, but he knew it was nothing to worry about. John was pretty strong, and even if it ached him, he didn't show it.

But when he suddenly fell on his ass, he couldn't help but worry. Well, only a little. He strolled over to him, noting that he leaned back onto the rock as if he meant to do that. He smiled boredly down at him. "Enjoying your rest, princess?"

John's head lifted at the horrid English accent. Sometimes he wondered if he was mocking him, but he didn't sound like that, surely.

"Yeah, it's great. You should join me." His hand swept through his hair, awkwardly trying to avoid Jim's gaze.

"I would love to, but I thought we were looking for someone?" John ignored the switch back to his natural Irish accent, jumping up from his place in the sand and dashing back to the car. Jim rolled his eyes, finding it amusing that his leg stopped bothering him again.

The sand burned through the soles of his dress shoes. He dropped his cigarette and stomped it out, following John back to the car. Jim watched as he scrambled to get his seat belt on, and then turned to look at him expectantly. 'Why did I agree to this?' he asked himself.

John shifted in his seat as Jim took his time adjusting himself in the driver's seat. It made the car shake a bit, getting on Jim's nerves.

As they set off once more, John rambled as he usually did. Jim was particularly glad to have the ability to tune him out, yet catch every detail of his drabble.

Suddenly, he went silent, and Jim hoped it would last longer than the usual two minutes. But of course, it was broken when John stated, "There's something up ahead."

Jim turned his head to where John was looking. There was a tall dark figure on the side of the road some fifty feet in front of them. An arm was raised, thumb sticking up.

"What's someone doing in the middle of a desert? Especially in such a large coat. They must be baking!"

"Should I stop?" Jim asked reluctantly as he knew the answer. "Yes, absolutely!"

As the car slowly encroached upon the tall stranger, John rolled down his window. The person visibly relaxed, letting their arm fall limp against their body. Obviously they had been standing there waiting for someone to stop by.

They stepped up to John's side, bending down quite a way to come face to face with him. "Hello." The man's voice was deep and bored. His eyes were obscured by a large pair of sunglasses, his curly dark hair messily sat across his tight face. The edges of his mouth were pursed together, obviously trying too hard to appear friendly.

Seeing as John was busy observing him, he turned his attention to Jim and asked, "Where are you two headed?"

John turns to Jim and stares at him lamely. He lets out a breath, "East-ish."

The man straightens slightly, looking lost in thought for a moment before he leans back down and says plainly, "May I join you?"  
John opens his door, causing the man to back up a few paces, watching every move the short man makes. As he stood, he quickly pushed his seat forward. A car with no back doors was irritating, but lesser so than having no car. The man nodded with another short twitch of his lips in John's direction, cramming himself into the back.

Jim can only stare in disbelief. John doesn't normally trust anyone that easily, much less someone he doesn't even know the name of. All Jim can think of is how much of an idiot John is, and how much of an idiot he is for even knowing the army doctor.

John snapped the seat back into place, crashing down into it with a grunt. "What's your name, anyway?" The man slipped his glasses down slightly-only enough for his pale blue eyes to peer over the brim. "You were an army doctor in your past life, you lived alone in a crap flat, and you ended it because your girlfriend left you."

Jim looked to John, giving him a look that conveyed the message, 'We can still toss him out, just say the word.' John listlessly rolled his eyes replying, "I asked for a name, but that was pretty spot on. Well done." Jim watched as the unknown man's face turned to a mix of satisfaction and surprise.

He leaned back, finally starting the car, seeing as John would be occupied with this man and not with telling him about Mary. As he drove off, he let their voices slip from his mind, full concentration on his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry...How could you have possibly known all of that?" John couldn't help but to stare at the man's piercing eyes through the rearview mirror. They almost gave him a chill, standing out from his cream skin as much as his full, pink lips which flattened out once again.

"You're an army doctor. That's easily detectable from your mannerisms. Every movement is precision." John shifted his gaze down to himself.

"Look at what you're wearing." His mind focused on his favorite black/white striped jumper. "You couldn't have lived anywhere better than a single roomed apartment." John's eyebrows furrowed, seeing nothing wrong with his personal choice in clothing.

"You don't appear to be an irrational man unless the situation called for immediate action. People are so dull, but I suppose that would be considered a normal thing to commit suicide over."

The man leaned back, extremely pleased with himself. He waited for a reaction-possibly consisting of being kicked out-but he just stared as the short man slumped back in his seat.

John stared out the window, watching as countless miles of sand and rocks whizzed by. "That's incredible."

The dark haired man's lips fell at the unexpected compliment. His body shifted a bit, and his eyes met with the reflection of the blond man's vibrant blue ones. "Really," he said with a slight tilt of his head.

"I'd call you a cock, but that was just...almost perfect."

The stranger straightened. "'Almost perfect'...'pretty spot on'...You say that as if I've missed something...?"

John swallowed. This man was getting on his nerves, quickly, and not entirely in a bad way. He concluded, "That's not why I did it."

There was a comfortable silence as the stranger's eyes wandered the car for more clues. Finding it to be the other man's car, he did not entirely care enough to inspect it. The bond was far more amusing. The blond...

"Sherlock."

"Gazuntite."

"Sherlock is my name," he said with a scowl.

"Of course, I should expect no less than such a posh name." This earned him another haughtily disgusted look.

"I'm John. That's James."

"Jim," he corrected, as if he were actually paying attention to the two.

"Right."

Sherlock curled up on the back seat, scooted his glasses back up the bridge of his nose so the shades covered his eyes. By the rise and fall of his chest, John assumed him to be asleep. What was he doing in the middle of nowhere anyway?

John recalled when he first arrived in this world. Maybe he was new. But what ever for? He definitely didn't fit in with anyone else John had met here.

Finally, some thoughts to distract him from his current situation.

Jim was equally as satisfied to have some peace and quiet.


End file.
